


Resonance in a Vacuum

by GrayVoice



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, College, Diners, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayVoice/pseuds/GrayVoice
Summary: Having run away from home and spent too many nights on the road, aspiring musician Miku expected to find a few hours of respite in that small town's 24-hour diner. But with just one conversation from a friendly pink-haired waitress, she may just find a whole lot more. Miku/Luka, Negitoro.
Relationships: Hatsune Miku/Megurine Luka
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Resonance in a Vacuum

The deep, black abyss of the half-emptied coffee mug seemed to stare into Miku from under the diner’s fluorescent lights. Their buzzing had started to grate on her, probably all the more because the java wasn’t giving her any buzz of its own.

All the energy drinks she’d chugged on the road up to here probably had something to do with that, she admitted to herself with a grimace.

She remembered being taught something like that in biology—how the brain only lasts on a caffeine hit for so long. Law of diminishing returns and all that.

More than likely, her high school teacher had brought that up in a lesson as some way to keep her students from pulling all-nighters before exams. Not that Miku ever had to, of course. Or wanted to. The Bs and Cs she pulled from that line of thinking never sat well with her parents, but fuck if she was going to let that get to her now.

She went for the sugar packets on the diner table, tore one open and dumped it into her coffee. Even if the stuff couldn’t keep her wired, she figured it could at least taste all right. Her last few sips had carried that bitter cigarette flavor of being left on the burner for hours.

Which made sense. The diner had been nearly empty when she came in, and was just as barren now. The waitress who’d given her the coffee and her mediocre, long-since-scarfed turkey on rye had taken about ten minutes to bring both out, she clearly had so little to do.

But, hey, there were probably worse gigs out there, Miku thought to herself as she choked down the burnt, sweetened coffee.

She took a glance outside. The buzzing neon sign of the diner showed off her beaten-up red Corolla—which, thankfully, still hadn’t been stolen. She’d hoped hiding her guitar case under the spare coats she’d thought to take with her, bursting out of the house on that bright spring day a couple weeks ago, would help with that.

The huge, bearded biker-looking sorts who’d strolled in after her made her a little more afraid that those last meaningful possessions of hers might end up yanked away under her nose, but no such bad luck so far. After the group in leather jackets left, the other incoming patrons were trucker after laconic trucker—who, Miku noted, always seemed to order plates of meatloaf for some reason. There was less reason for her to worry about any of them being carjackers, but she kept an eye on them nevertheless.

By now, she was the only one left in the whole place. Hard to say how long she’d spent inside, taking in constant refills of java. She’d told herself this would be the spot to regroup, get her bearings, and despite the lousy food and garish faux-50s decor, she found herself rooted to the sticky blue vinyl seating of her booth.

Once again, the lone waitress holding down the fort emerged from the kitchen, smiling even before she looked back to Miku. Her long, coral-pink hair looked frayed, the disheveled strands standing out all the more as they fell over the plain black dress that seemed to function as an official work uniform.

“Still working on that coffee?” she asked.

Miku nodded quickly. Some hours ago she realized she’d left her earphones in her car, and just didn’t feel comfortable walking out for them—too likely someone would think she was ditching the check. Right about now she was missing music, hard. Just to have something other than a stranger’s words to take her out of the silence. And to have a better excuse to not say anything herself.

Man, if she couldn’t use a New Order song right about now. She let a few lyrics play out in her head:

_Sound formed in a vacuum may seem a waste of time  
_ _It's always been just the same  
_ _No hearing or breathing  
_ _No movement, no lyrics, just nothing_

“You sure?” the waitress asked. “I can top you off. Again, I mean.”

Sighing, Miku shook her head “no.”

She envisioned the rest of the song playing to its end:

_The sign that leads the way  
_ _The path we cannot take  
_ _You've caught me at a bad time  
_ _So, why don't you piss off?_

Even though, she had to admit, the waitress _was_ kind of hot. Tall, slender legs, shapely breasts. She had no idea how she was keeping all of that together working past midnight at some shithole diner.

“All right, perfect,” the waitress said. “So, can I get you anything else, maybe? Let you have a look at the dessert menu?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Miku muttered.

“You sure? We got a killer apple pie. Goes real great with the coffee.”

Miku scoffed. “Honestly, I don’t think much _anything_ would go great with this coffee.”

The rebuttal shook up the waitress, whose smile went immediately to a look of surprise.

“Oh. Um, you do?”

“I mean, sorry,” Miku said. “Not your fault or anything. It’s just not great stuff.”

“Well, you could have fooled me,” the waitress said. For some reason, she was smiling again—to Miku's relief. “You _do_ realize you’ve been sucking it down for the last three hours, right?”

Miku scrambled to pull out her phone. Three hours? She’d really been here that long?

She looked at the time: 2:14 AM. But who knew when she’d gotten here. Around 11? Or had she not reset the Corolla’s dashboard clock after daylight savings?

“But, hey, I get it,” the waitress went on. “If you just need a place to stick around, then don’t worry about it. The coffee _does_ say ‘free refills’ on the menu.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Miku said. Actually, that was a relief to hear. The last thing she needed right now was to get kicked out of the only place she’d taken a break inside for the past week or so.

“I’m Luka, by the way,” the waitress said. “In case you forgot. Which, I’m sensing maybe you did.”

“What?” Miku asked.

“I said, ‘in case you forgot,’” the waitress—Luka?—said. “Like, I said that when you first sat down. ‘Hi, I’m Luka, I’ll be your server’—like what usually happens at these places.”

“Ah,” Miku said.

“You can tell me your name, if you want.” Luka shrugged. “Like, no pressure. But if you’re gonna stick around, maybe you want someone to talk to?”

Miku sighed.

“I’m Miku,” she said.

“Well, glad to meet you, Miku,” Luka said. “You passing through?”

“I don’t remember saying I wasn’t from here,” Miku said.

“You don’t have to. If you were, I don’t think you’d have come to this place.”

Wary all of a sudden, Miku set down her coffee.

“Why? You do something weird to the food here?”

“Nah,” Luka said. “It’s just known as a trucker stop. Townies set it aside as a space for them, y’know? Just not viewed as part of the local scene.”

The idea still didn’t sit right with Miku. A space just for outsiders—something about that stank. She kept silent, not sure how much to trust from the whole situation.

“Well, hey, that doesn’t mean you’re not welcome,” Luka went on. “It just means I’m curious.”

“Curious,” Miku repeated, incredulous. “Curious about what?”

“Um, about you?” Luka laughed. It was a higher sound than her speaking voice, lighter and airer. Melodic, even. “Like, what brings you here? This isn’t exactly a prime tourist spot.”

Miku sighed. Normally, she would have brushed off that remark. Maybe even snarked at it.

But, now? She had cast off so much weight already.

“I’m here,” Miku said, “because I ran away from home.”

The expected shock spread over the waitress’s face like cracks through ice.

“Oh,” she said. “Uh. You sure you should be telling me that?”

“Not like you can report me,” Miku said. “I’m eighteen. No parental custody. Fucking finally.”

Discomfort read clear as day in the waitress’s eyes. Not that it mattered. Of course she’d be upset, hearing that. Anyone would be. But it didn’t matter. It was simple instinct, not caring. Not active interest in Miku’s wellbeing.

So, fuck it.

She went on.

“Like, they _ruled_ me, y’know?” she said. “They had a whole future planned out for me. ‘Miku, you’ll do so well in pre-med. Miku, you’ll make such a great doctor. Miku, you’re so pretty, you’ll find such a great husband one day.’ Every day, every goddamn day, that was what they were on about. Literally, right from freshman year, they were hounding me about how I needed to have not just my college picked out, but the right medical school, too. Ones that would lead to money. Ones that were _respectable_.”

It was a total rant, Miku knew. Something that just exploded out of her now that she had the chance to let it blow. Not even her supposed “friends” from high school liked sitting around hearing about half that stuff. Every time she did it, it was so she’d be left alone again.

So why, she wondered, was this busty, hot-as-hell waitress still standing around listening to her?

Tips here weren’t _that_ bad, were they?

“I guess you didn’t take so well to all that, then,” Luka said.

“Nah,” Miku said.

“So, like, what happened?”

“What? Other than me running away?”

“Well, yeah.” Luka shifted her feet, scratched her neck under the billowing, coral-pink ponytail. “I mean, what, did they push you to go to a particular college or something?”

Miku sighed and shook her head.

“They expected _me_ to have handled all that. Like, they figured since I was the good, obedient daughter, I’d have done it all, just ‘cuz they’d _implied_ I had to. ‘Cuz they thought _I_ wanted it all, too.”

Miku took a long, slow sip of her coffee. The sugar packets had done nothing to improve the taste.

“So one day,” she went on, “they came to me asking when my acceptance letter was coming in. And, you know what? I told them it wouldn’t be coming. Because I didn’t apply anywhere. Because I didn’t want to be a doctor.”

For some reason, Miku found she couldn’t keep eyes on the frowning waitress after that. It was like, for all the ways she wanted to let it all free, that shame still clung to her throat like some kind of powder.

With long, slow gulps, she sucked down the rest of the coffee. Before her she set aside the empty cup, bits of undissolved sugar crystals all that remained beneath the inky black.

“So. Yeah,” Miku said. “They told me either spend the next year applying, or figure out someplace else to stay. I guess you can work out which option I took.”

Still the waitress kept silent, avoiding eye contact. Uncomfortable, obviously. Clearly Miku had spilled too much. Yeah, she was kicking herself a little for that—something felt lousy about making someone that friendly and that, well, _hot_ so unnerved around her.

But, well. She hadn’t left yet.

Still chasing after that tip, Miku figured.

She decided to give her a reason to do that and get away from the moping, moody teenager.

“Another coffee, please,” she said, pushing the empty cup across the table.

Robotically, Luka picked it up, frowned at the surface inside.

“You sure you want one?” she asked.

“There’s no way I’m sleeping tonight anyhow,” Miku said.

“What, was that your plan? Get so jacked up on caffeine you’d be able to keep driving?”

“It’s no big deal. Look, I overshared already.”

The frown went from the empty cup down to Miku.

“Where are you staying tonight?”

A noise started, then abruptly stopped in Miku’s throat. The staredown was like a slap to the face, something with ten times the punch of all the caffeine pumping through her system.

“I mean, I was just going into town?” Miku offered.

The explanation didn’t earn her any respite from Luka’s stare. Still it weighed down on Miku’s chest like a stack of concrete blocks.

“Going into town for what?” Luka asked. “You gonna stay with a friend?”

“Well, uh—”

“A night at our luxurious Motel 6, maybe?”

Miku flinched. “Sure. That was it.”

“Bad choice. You’re rolling the dice on vacancy there, this time of night. Unless you want to see if some tubby, hairy trucker will share his room with you.”

“It’s not like that’s the only choice in town.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Luka said, folding her arms. “Why, there’s _also_ our two lovely bed and breakfasts, which you _did_ call ahead to reserve a night at, right? Considering how they don’t have lobby staff till 7?”

Miku's hands gripped at the blue vinyl lining her seat until her knuckles went sore. What kind of podunk shithole _was_ this? No hotels, no rooms at all?

“Yeah,” Luka sighed. “Of course you didn’t do that. Seriously, did you come out here with _any_ kind of plan?”

Beneath firmly closed lips, Miku felt her teeth grind together like cogs. Okay—so maybe she _didn’t_ have a plan. It wasn’t like this waitress had to point it out. Wasn’t like she knew what was going on.

But, then, Miku looked back out past the window, out into the bare road and the dark night surrounding it. Not an easy spot to crash, maybe. So it probably wasn’t a good idea to make this the place to stop.

Well, maybe. But it wasn’t like she regretted it.

As if to fill the oppressive, gloomy silence, Luka sighed. At last, she set the cup on her tray.

“I’ll get you another coffee, if you want,” she said, “but, trust me: get some apple pie with it this time.”

“Why?” Miku asked. “Is it on the house?”

“I work for tips, cutie,” Luka said with a playful—no, more like alluring—smile. “Pay for it yourself.” She winked. “But, trust me: you could do with something sweet about now.”

Against herself, Miku relented. She put in an order for the apple pie, minus the coffee.

With another wink, the waitress disappeared into the kitchen like a pink whirlwind.

Something about the situation was disappointing. Here Miku was, out on her own at last, and she was getting pushed around again.

She could have bashed her head against the table. Stupid. If she were going to throw money away every time a pretty girl came by, she’d probably go broke in a month.

Some minutes of sullen, booth-kicking silence later, she saw the pink-haired waitress return with a platter held high overhead. Stepping confidently back to the table, Luka carefully laid down on it a pristine white plate with a slice of apple pie sandwiched between two scoops of vanilla ice cream.

Miku stared at it incredulously.

“You didn’t mention a la mode,” she said.

“ _That_ part’s on the house,” Luka said, her ruby lips growing into another grin. “Call it meeting you halfway.”

Frowning still, Miku dug a fork into the pie slice. She scooped up some of the ice cream on the way up, brought the entire combination up to her mouth.

The dessert melted against her tongue in a medley of cinnamon, fruit, and creamy sweetness. It crescendoed into a deeper, warmer comfort, a taste of being wrapped in a blanket before a roaring fire, until it crested downward into a watery chill from the ice cream.

Practically in a daze, Miku swallowed it all without even realizing she’d finished taking a bite. She stared down at her plate, suddenly concerned the one slice was all she’d ordered. Then her eyes turned to Luka, the waitress, whose grin still hadn’t left those plump, ruby lips.

“Yeah,” Luka said. “Figured that was what you needed.”

Scooping up another bite, Miku sighed. So that much had showed on her face.

“I… appreciate the suggestion,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Luka said with a chuckle. Holding her tray under an arm, she leaned against the side of the booth. “So, not to harp on that ‘plan’ stuff much more, but I am curious: did you want to do something else instead?”

Lost in the ecstasy of another morsel of pie, Miku took a moment to have the question even register. The after echo of it immediately thrust her back down to earth.

“Something else instead?” she repeated, still not fully grounded.

“Like, instead of being a doctor,” Luka said. “Or, was it just as simple as ‘anything but med school’?”

Miku tilted her head toward the parking lot. “There’s a reason I packed my guitar.”

The ruby lips made an O of surprise.

“Whoa. Wandering minstrel type, huh?”

“I mean, Bob Dylan spent a lot of time rolling from town to town. Still did pretty well for himself.”

“So, that’s the sort of music you want to make? Bob Dylan-type stuff?”

Miku shrugged as her fork clinked against the plate. “Not exactly. Post-punk and the revival scene is more my speed.”

“Well, well. We got ourselves a pretentious one, huh?” Before Miku could rise out of her seat in protest, she settled down as Luka’s laughter chimed through the air. “Hey, don’t worry. I say that ‘cuz I’m in the same boat. Atmospheric audio, weird-ass lyrics, tons of pointless synths—yeah, give me all of that.”

“No kidding?” Against herself, Miku smiled as she went for another bit of pie. “Does, uh, that mean you play, too?”

“Piano and a bit of bass, yeah,” Luka said. “I take lessons between accounting courses.”

“Music _and_ accounting?” Miku scoffed before wolfing down the next bite. “What, did _your_ parents put a quota for boredom on your education, too?”

At long last, the smile faltered, gave the slightest signs of breaking.

“Nah. My choice,” Luka said. “My folks would have wanted me to have a fallback.”

Miku felt her chewing stop. “Oh.”

But there was the grin again—lipstick so perfectly applied, even this deep into the night, gently pushing up the smooth, fair cheeks.

How had Miku not noticed the sparkle in those ocean-blue eyes by now? The moment she looked, the way they danced, shimmering, and shone was like soothing candlelight under the flickering fluorescent bulbs.

No. Not a trace of sadness at all.

Quickly, she worked to gulp down her latest bite.

“I guess that makes sense,” she said. “Hey, that way, you can be your own manager, right?”

“So someone figured out my Plan A,” Luka said, again with that sparkling laugh of hers. “I was worried you’d judge me just for Plan B.”

The fork clinked against the plate loudly. Miku looked down at it, noticed just one morsel of pie and a couple bits of ice cream remained.

She swept up what was left in a quick motion.

“Well, better than being judged for not having a plan at all,” she said with a smirk and an eyeroll.

_Dumb_ , was what immediately popped into her head. Kind of mean, too. Wasn’t like the girl earning a tip would shout back, but still. She couldn’t help but feel a hot wash of shame sweep over her.

She cooled it down with the final bite of the dessert, instinctively swiped at the empty plate in the hopes of getting more to occupy her mouth with.

But, shockingly—she looked back to the waitress, to Luka, and the expected scowl wasn’t there.

Instead, there was still just the bright cheery smile, the sparkling eyes.

“I mean, I wasn’t really trying to _judge_ you,” Luka said. “It’s more like—well, you can’t just up and leave a place if you don’t know how you’re gonna survive, y’know?”

Again Miku jabbed uselessly at her plate.

“Yeah. I guess not.”

Her fork clanked against the ceramic a couple more times before she had it in herself to look up again. When she did, she saw the eyes had changed at last.

And she felt her heart sink as she saw them. Not because they were disappointed, no. Because they were welling up with worry—those light eyebrows creasing hard on her forehead.

“Sorry, in advance, for asking this,” Luka said. She scratched the back of her head, then held both arms in front of her over her tray. “Uh, was the med school deal the _only_ reason you didn’t feel welcome with your folks?”

Miku blinked. “Only reason?”

“I just mean…” The waitress sighed. “Well, like… you said they wanted, y’know, a _husband_ for you. So, I mean, was that…?”

Like a cold shower, the full impact of the question struck Miku awake. As if on its own, her hand opened, the fork clattering definitively onto the plate below.

“Oh. Well, no, uh…”

Crap. Losing it. She brought her eyes away from those bright, hypnotic blue irises—resting for way, _way_ too long on the waitress' huge boobs… Damn it! Damn it all!

“I mean,” Miku said, trying to start again, “I never really _came out_ to them, so, it’s like…”

Crap, crap, _triple_ crap. “Came out”—just announcing it to the whole world. Yeah, maybe no one at school had cared enough to hear or find out, but was _this_ really the first place to say it out loud?

She balled a hand into a fist and stationed her cheek firmly on top of it. So much for being open about everything.

No wonder she’d kept everything pent up before.

And, yet—when she looked up, the tension was gone from the waitress’s face.

Well, shit. She was smiling again, even.

“I guess that’s something,” Luka said. “I mean, sorry, again, for bringing it up. Just thought maybe I’d check.”

“No problem,” Miku squeaked out. She swallowed what felt like an elephant stuck in her throat. “Uh. Any particular reason you _wanted_ to check?”

“To let you know you got a friend, ‘s all,” Luka said. “Like, my grandparents weren’t exactly thrilled when they heard about which way I swing. So I know what that’s like.”

“Oh.” Miku said. She scrunched her hands up again and set them in her lap this time.

_Which way I swing_.

So, the same way.

As in, into girls.

As in, into her, maybe.

Very, _very_ potentially.

Wait—was she really thinking about that now? Really, seriously letting that run through her head?

This was bad. _Really_ bad. Except, she couldn’t tell if it was any worse than when she first came in.

“I mean, uh, thanks,” Miku said, scrambling for some way to fill the silence. “I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” Luka said. “Gotta look out for each other, y’know.”

“Yeah.” With a long, slow clatter, Miku slid the plate over across the table. “Um. Could I get the check, please?”

“What? Not another coffee?” Luka asked with a grin.

“No. Just the check.” Miku clenched, then slowly unclenched her fists in her lap, trying desperately to avoid the waitress’s— _Luka’s_ —eyes. “I, uh, think maybe I better get going.”

Even without looking up, she could feel the glimmering blue eyes staring her down.

“Yeah? To _where_? We kinda went over this.”

She gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll just sleep in my car in this parking lot.”

“Doesn’t sound all that cozy.”

This time she didn’t even bother shrugging. “Not like I have much choice.”

“Well.” Daring to look up, Miku caught a glimpse of the smile again. Luka’s lips, so red and plump, moved, breathing voice into words. “I could offer you my place. I mean, if you want.”

Miku felt her neck lift up as if on its own. She hoped desperately her eyes hadn’t gone too wide.

“Uh,” she said.

“Like, it’s okay to say no,” Luka said. “But, y’know, I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything.”

“Oh, that's _totally_ reassuring.”

To Miku’s relief, the joke scored another laugh out of Luka.

Another glimmering, beautiful laugh.

“Yeah. I have that effect on people.” Reaching over, Luka scooped up the plate. Somehow, Miku couldn’t help but notice the way her breasts hung over the table as she leaned forward. “But, seriously. I don’t want to leave you out here alone, y’know? If you wanna crash at my trailer, it’s fine.”

Miku gulped as she took her eyes off Luka’s reoriented breasts.

“You’re, uh, not worried I’m gonna rob you?”

“If I had anything worth robbing, I wouldn’t be working this job, would I?” Luka said with another smirk.

Sighing, Miku sat back up straight. This wasn’t a bad offer, she had to admit. Even if she _were_ in danger, it wasn’t like she had any better options.

Then she frowned.

“Wait. Did you say ‘trailer’?”

“Sure did.” Again Luka flashed her teeth in a smile. “Not exactly the Ritz, I know, but it’s gonna be better than your backseat.”

Against herself, a vision of a more occupied backseat flashed through Miku’s head. She shook her head violently—part as an answer, part to keep herself focused.

“Fuck it,” she said. “I’m in.”

And Luka beamed, the picture of satisfaction.

Why, Miku had no idea. But, all the same, she couldn’t help but feel comforted.

“I’ll get that check of yours right away,” Luka said before disappearing into the kitchen again.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Luka to get off her shift. Once free, she pointed out her battered gray pickup truck and told Miku to follow her, that the trip wouldn’t take five minutes.

And it didn’t. More like ten. Mostly because of Miku, though, who drove slow as sludge and _still_ managed to lose Luka’s truck on the deserted night roads.

She had to admit, she was still anxious. About the whole situation, really. For as little as the pie had ended up costing, Miku wasn’t happy about how her savings were going to go dry sooner or later. Here and there along the drive, she eyed her fuel gauge, wondered how cheaply she could get gas later on.

It led her to think that maybe Luka was right. Maybe she really _had_ gotten in over her head.

But that wasn’t all that had her wired. There was also meeting Luka. Spending a night with her.

Yeah, she’d had enough coffee to drown a cow —or whatever livestock this hick town raised —but even if she hadn't had a drop tonight, she still had a feeling she wouldn't sleep a wink, the way circumstances had run. Caffeine aside, her mind had kicked into overdrive at the thought of lodging in the same building as the drop-dead gorgeous waitress.

Or, same _trailer_ , apparently. Which, as Miku pulled up behind the gray pickup truck, was even smaller than what she’d pictured. A lone, pale-white camper, barely big enough to pack up her parents’ camping gear, stood alone before an enormous field of grasses, the bits of metal on its roof glinting under the light of the full moon.

She parked in front of it right after Luka and her truck did, stepping out to gawk at the teeny structure. Before her, the waitress motioned at the trailer and grinned that beaming, toothy smile again.

“Home, sweet home,” she proclaimed to the night air.

Miku slammed her car door shut, flicking the lock on the inside beforehand.

“This, uh,” she said, motioning to the trailer, “is all yours?”

“Every inch,” Luka said, grinning.

Miku squinted at it again. The trailer couldn’t have been bigger than twice the size of Luka’s pickup truck.

“Were, uh,” Miku asked, “you living in this thing with your folks?”

“Nah. Just used it for vacations. Or to give farmhands some lodging.” Luka gestured past the fields to a faint, white block on the horizon. “That's the old home. Long story short, I had to sell it off once it got passed down to me. I mean, can't really make mortgage on _my_ salary, y'know?”

Faintly, the pale walls of the far-off house flickered, then went dark as clouds passed by overhead. Miku wondered if it was visible from inside the trailer.

“So,” Miku said as she gestured at the huge stretch of empty land around, “what about all the rest?”

“Most of the property's still mine, actually.” Luka climbed the plastic stairs to the trailer’s door and unlocked it. “Parents left it to me, for all the good it’s worth. Really, most of what I do with it is sell a chunk off to some other farmers.”

“Sounds like a decent source of cash.”

“Less than you’d think, actually. But it gives me a bigger tax return.” She extended a hand toward the trailer. “After you.”

Somehow, the inside managed to feel even smaller. On one end, past the door, was a single table, barely wider than Miku herself, with booth seating in place on either end and a stove and minifridge. On the other end was a single twin bed with another door beside it.

“Bathroom, if you need it,” Luka said, pointing to the lone door. “Water’s hooked up, but don’t take too long washing your hands. That is, if you want any left over for a shower in the morning.”

Again, Miku took a look around at the trailer, not sure how to process its size. Or, its lack of it.

Apparently Luka caught her wide-eyed perusal. She laughed reassuringly.

“Yeah, well, I did say it wasn’t much, huh?” she said.

Like music blooming into stillness, Miku felt the caress of a hand on her shoulder. Luka’s hand—warm, tender, firm. She jumped at the bit of contact, nearly yelped in surprise.

“Where, uh,” Miku started. She swallowed as she tried to take her mind off the fact Luka’s skin was now a shirt and a bra strap away from hers. “Where… am I gonna sleep?”

Luka clicked her tongue, grinning at Miku as if she were an exchange student asking why banks were closed on July 4th.

“Uh, the _bed_?” She laughed again. “C’mon, I can’t exactly put you anywhere else. Not what you’d call ‘hospitality.’”

“Ah,” Miku said. She clutched at the light backpack she’d brought in with her. “Um. And, you’ll…?”

“Me, I’ll pull an extra blanket out and chill on the floor,” Luka said.

Miku’s jaw dropped so hard that, for a moment, she worried she'd dislocated it.

“Seriously?”

“Well, not like the table is any good. Or the seats.” In the low light of the trailer, the other woman’s silhouette flickered in motion. “Trust me, that’s a route I’ve gone down before.”

"Have it your way, I guess," Miku said. She turned her back on Luka to get another look at the bed. A couple of pillows sat on it—one to be taken by her hostess, she assumed. Neither looked what you'd call “fluffy,” though.

Still, after a glance at the vinyl flooring, she could see she was getting the sweeter end of the deal.

"Thanks, by the way," she said.

"Don't mention it." Faint yet distinct, the rustling sound of clothes in motion filled the confined, metal space. "I'll conk out easily anyhow. 'Specially after I get this off."

Miku stood locked in place. What? she wanted to ask—but an instinctive nervousness stopped the words.

"Seriously, wearing this for a whole shift?" Luka's voice sounded. "Chafes like a royal bitch. Seriously, I gotta get measured again."

And the nervousness, gone still a moment, resurged as wave in Miku: chafing thing. Coming off.

Off of _Luka_.

“Uh, _warn_ me first?” she snapped.

Confusion lingered in the air as Miku dared to glance back.

“...Warn you?” Luka asked. In her hand, she held a lone sneaker, the heel tab worn uncomfortably raw from who knew how many years of use.

In horror and embarrassment, Miku clapped her hands to her mouth.

“Oh,” she said. “I mean, I—well, that is, _you_ said 'off,' and 'wearing,' and 'chafe,' and…”

_Don't say “bra” don't say “bra,”_ went a rapid-fire mantra in her head.

Frowning, Luka set her ragged sneaker and its slightly less worn counterpart by the door.

“Maybe we should call it a night, huh?”

Agreeing, Miku retreated into the bathroom with her bag in tow. The inside, sporting a sink, toilet, and slim shower, was barely bigger than her closet back at home—what _was_ her home, anyway. She shook her head, in awe of how quickly that whole life felt a hundred years and a million miles away.

Once she’d slipped into her PJs—just a t-shirt and spare sweatpants—she finally noticed the tiny mirror hanging above the sink. Her hair was a total mess, let down: an aqua mass of frizz and visible split ends. When was the last time she’d actually washed it, anyway?

She ran a hand through the tangled strands. It wasn’t as if she was supposed to care. Screw caring, and all that. Screw what people thought of her.

A lump caught in her throat. She hated how she looked. She hated that she was going to step out in front of that tall, gorgeous, surprisingly funny hostess so frazzled up.

Sighing, she dared to turn the sink on for a moment. Sure enough, a trickle of lukewarm water spritzed down onto her waiting palm. She brought it up to her face, and the slap of the liquid put the lingering confusion to rest.

She stepped back out, sat on the bed and stared at the wall while Luka took her turn changing. The mattress under her was supposed to be tough, she could tell—hard, and only about as thick as some duvets she’d climbed under. Except, in that very moment, it felt like the softest thing she’d touched in weeks.

At the sound of the bathroom door opening, it was all Miku could do to keep her head fixed square and straight ahead. As footsteps came closer, she relented and stole a glance to her side.

Luka just wore a long t-shirt—one so oversized, it hung down just above her knees. How she’d managed to find one to fit that way, with how long her legs ran, Miku had no clue. Over the white surface ran the faded sepia portrait of The Smiths’ album art for _The Queen is Dead_.

“Told ya,” Luka said as she pointed to the graphic. “Actual fan of the stuff.”

“Yeah,” Miku said, forcing a chuckle. “Seminal record, huh?”

A shaft of moonlight was glittering down through a trailer window, lighting up the brilliant pink of Luka’s hair. Let down, so up close, it looked as perfect and polished as a pendant of rose quartz.

But what flared up in Miku wasn’t jealousy. All she wanted was to reach out her hand, to stroke that crystalline elegance. She wanted to feel it run over Luka's face and chest.

As Luka passed her to come near the bed, Miku came so close to actually grabbing her. Then, she held herself back—no, more like her arm froze in place, the calluses on her fingertips twitching vainly.

Her breath caught as she saw Luka step in front of her, back turned. The off-duty waitress reached behind and yanked a pillow off the bed, and it fell to the floor with a faint plop. From under the bed she dragged out an extra blanket. A really thin one, Miku couldn’t help but notice, white splotched with bits of sickly yellow.

Flashing another grin, Luka kneeled to the floor to spread out the sheet.

“Well,” she said, “g’night, then.”

And she dropped down out of view.

Miku gulped. Slowly, she grabbed at the sheets on the twin bed. They were thin, too, but at least they’d managed to stay a consistent pale. More than that, they were actual blankets—way more luxury than she’d had for, who knew, two weeks now?

Holding the edge firm, she rubbed the fabric between her thumb and fingers, the sensation soft yet disappointingly delicate, the digits practically moving on their own.

So, why wasn’t she eager to climb under it just yet?

Again, she swallowed some massive lump.

“You’re… really gonna just stay down there?”

That laugh lit up the trailer brighter than the moon ever could.

“Miku, I told you. I’m just fine.”

“I mean…” Forcing her hands to open up, Miku let go of the sheets. “It’s, uh, kinda lonely down there, isn’t it?”

At first, the only reply was silence—no hearing or breathing, no movement.

It left Miku to hang uncertainly in the moonlight shining between the gaps in the faded curtains over the nearby window. But just as she was about to give up, Luka countered with a question of her own.

“You think so?”

The earthy timbre of her voice shook Miku to her core. She tugged hard at the hem of her t-shirt, barely fighting off the sudden, fiery impulse to rip it to shreds.

“I do,” she said. “Real, real lonely. And, I dunno. Maybe you’re just now realizing it.”

The perfect, glimmering cascade of rose quartz rose into view again, and Luka’s face was shrouded in shadow. Yet Miku could tell she wasn't smiling.

It was a serious gaze. Warm, but still so focused.

“Then maybe,” Luka said, those red, plump lips whispering the sound to life, “maybe ‘I’ ought to be real about it.”

Miku felt her breath catch again. She slid back on the twin bed—not away. To give some room over.

“I… want you up here,” she said. “Luka, I—I need you tonight.”

The words disappeared into the night, and she saw Luka rise tall, her legs upright, her oversized t-shirt hanging loose down from those soft, shapely breasts.

And on her face—that smile was there again. Only fainter.

Warmer.

Her hand laid down on Miku’s leg, the smooth palm and her own callused fingers tender along the skin. Miku sucked in air and shuddered. The spring night seemed set ablaze all of a sudden.

“Well,” Luka said, “wanna… make some music together?”

Much as she tried to stifle it, a laugh broke through Miku’s lips.

“Wow,” she said. “You _are_ kind of a dork, huh?”

“What? Gonna kick me back to the floor for that?”

Miku set her hand on top of Luka’s—then trailed her fingertips up, up, higher along the other woman’s arm. Past her shoulder, up to stroke her cheek.

“Not a chance,” Miku whispered.

She closed in. Her lips brushed, then pressed up against Luka’s—pillowy soft, blazing hot. The touch brought shivers down Miku’s spine as her hands went to the other woman’s hips all on their own.

They collapsed on the bed. Both t-shirts fell to the floor in a pile.

* * *

Sunlight streaming through the window made Miku flutter her eyes open, but it wasn’t until the alarm blared from the other side of the trailer that she felt fully conscious.

Groaning, Luka rose up, shaking off Miku’s tight, clutching arms, and shambled to the tiny dining table to shut it off. But, before Miku could take much notice, she’d toddled back, fallen into a tight cuddle with Miku in the twin bed.

“What was that about?” Miku mumbled out.

“Hm?”

“The alarm. You got somethin’ today?”

A yawn creaked out of Luka’s mouth as she ran a hand through Miku’s hair, pressing her head closer against her breast.

“I told you, I’m a student. I got somethin’ going on every day.”

“What, even weekends?”

“Yeah. Weekends, I got work.”

“Mm. Right.”

Miku clutched tighter around Luka’s slim waist, nuzzling her face against her. She sighed as she basked in this delicate stillness, this simple and beautiful quiet. Her mind raced back to the gasps, the moans that echoed through the trailer—to the way her hips thrust, her lips clenched, her very core shuddered and quaked.

And, pressing her lips to Luka’s slender neck, she remembered how the other woman had shaken, how such simple touches had melted her to a shivering, groaning puddle. The first time Miku had touched—really, deeply touched—another woman, and it was so much more powerful, so much more explosive than she’d imagined.

She heard Luka moan at the kiss. It excited her, pressed her on. Her hand slid down and around Luka’s waist, clutching at her tightly, moving in deeper with her mouth.

But she gasped in disappointment as Luka pushed her away.

“Hey,” Luka said. “None of that now.”

“Just a little?”

“Nah. I gotta keep on schedule.” Chuckling, she kissed Miku on the forehead before climbing back out of the twin bed. “Even me lying down there was a bad move, honestly. Dunno how long you’d keep me stuck there.”

“Till we pass out again, duh,” Miku said, rubbing her eyes as she rose. She had to admit, as much as she hated having Luka away, she sure was enjoying the view of her walking away.

“ _Now_ who’s the dork?” Luka said with a laugh. She pulled on a set of underwear, jeans, and a black tee out from a box under the dining table—one Miku apparently hadn’t noticed in the commotion of the other night.

Gingerly, Miku climbed out of the tiny bed, too, going for her discarded panties to the side.

“So, uh,” she said, “what’s next?”

“Well, we can grab some breakfast,” Luka said. “I got class after that. But, hey, that might give you some time to think about what to do next.”

At once, some force of gravity pulled Miku down from inside herself.

“Oh,” she said.

_What to do next_. The idea hadn’t even been occurring to her. It wasn’t like she could stay in this podunk town, anyway. With its truckers, its deserted restaurants, its bare-bones lodging.

Its fine-as-all-hell waitresses.

“I… really hadn’t kept that in mind,” Miku said.

“Well, yeah,” Luka replied. “That’s why I said you could think it over.”

Again the words flared through Miku’s head: _what to do next._ She hated the whole idea. Next. It should all have been here, now, in the present.

This present, where she was happy. Actually getting some kind of pleasure out of things.

What an odd thought, she realized. Happy, in this shithole town. That state she’d felt so apart from for so long, after so many years of control and misunderstanding.

And how the understanding had been there, all through that night, spoken through thrusts of the body and moans and sweat. It had all been spoken in gasps and whispers then, but just as much so before with the laughs and the talk of post-punk. Had she ever wanted to hear half as much random conversation from anyone in high school? Not from the teachers, and certainly not from any of the students.

She frowned, pulling on another t-shirt. Her hands went right for the hem and tugged it down further even once it was over her.

“I don’t know how much time I’d really need,” Miku said. “To think it over.”

Luka turned back to her, blinking.

“What? You need more time?”

“No, uh…” Miku gulped. Time to go in again, maybe. “I think, maybe I’d need less.”

Something in Luka’s eyes flashed—cool, sure, but hesitant. There was a glimpse of something Miku at last recognized, not just felt enthralled, allured by from its foreign confidence.

Maybe it was what you’d call being unsure.

“Like,” Miku said, “maybe, I dunno, there’s another job at your diner?”

Like the dawn breaking anew, a smile spread across Luka’s face.

“Well,” she said, “they _had_ been talking about needing someone to cover the afternoons.”

Slowly, finger by finger, Miku felt her hands let go of her shirt hem.

“You know,” she said, “that… just might work.”

“It’s not the only restaurant in town, either,” Luka cut in. “Well, what I mean is—some other places, like, they got stages.”

Miku blinked. “Stages?”

“Stages. Yeah.” Luka scratched the back of her head, that perfect cascading crystal flowing more naturally now. “And, like, sound equipment. Y’know, for music?”

And after blinking again, Miku felt her eyes go wide.

“Oh,” she said. Rapidly, she pointed between herself and Luka. “So, you’re saying, we…?”

“Hey, you haven’t made the cut to be my duet partner just yet, Garfunkel,” Luka said with a laugh. “I mean, we still gotta jam together.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t suppose I have a long waiting list, do I?”

And as Luka flashed her teeth, the sun flared bright over the horizon.

“Pretty long. But, hey, I can cut you to the top of the list. Call it a favor.”

As she opened the door, Miku felt herself—no, _told_ herself to—dash straight ahead. She stretched an arm out, far ahead, farther than she could even see in that moment of sheer rush and adrenaline.

And yet, sure enough—her hand found Luka’s. The embrace was warm, tender, firm as it squeezed her palm back.

Resonant, in that vacuum of the still morning.

“I never said...” Miku started. And she gulped, gathered her strength. “I never said thank you. For all this.”

Smiling, Luka pushed open the trailer door.

“It’s no problem. Really.” She strode out into the sunlight, the sun shining on the wide fields, where birds chirped off on the distance of the trees and the small town. “So, fancy anything in particular for breakfast?”

“Honestly?” Miku laughed. “Just someplace that has good coffee.”

That way, after all, she’d enjoy the flavor _without_ having to add any sugar.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to Can't Catch Rabbit for her ongoing assistance with this piece.
> 
> As you might imagine, this one came about after an idea I couldn't let go of came into contact with a mostly spur-of-the-moment venture into old school post-punk. What can I say? Sometimes rebellious angst does the soul good.


End file.
